The Subway Thief
by Ganymede Rose
Summary: An AU meeting inspired by 1x03 Hedge Fund Homeboys


**The Subway Thief**

An AU meeting based on 1x03 Hedge Fund Homeboys

* * *

It's late, and Alexis Castle just wants to be home. She's cold and tired, and the dance was fun, but she's ready to be home. She wonders again how her Dad does it, going to all of those events and staying out late and smiling and never flagging.

Then again, Dad has long stretches of quiet, hours upon hours alone as he builds imaginary worlds. Mom, on the other hand, is incapable of being alone.

Alexis again marvels at the wonders of genetics, of the combination that led to her, so different from what people expect from a child of Richard Castle and Meredith Harper.

"Come on, Alexis! Train's here! We're going to miss it!"

"The next one doesn't come for another thirty minutes!"

Alexis is at the back of the group. Kelsey and Taylor are more adept at running in heels than she is. It surprises Alexis, especially since Kelsey's parents only let her wear heels for special occasions, yet Kelsey's running as if she does this daily.

They make it to the turnstile. The train is still there. Alexis swipes her card. The machine rejects it.

Taylor and Kelsey are on the train now, yelling for her.

"It's not reading my card!" Alexis swipes it again. That's when she notices the balance: zero.

Alexis hesitates. The warnings for the train's departure begin. She looks between her friends and her card. Even as every part of her screams that this is wrong, wrong, wrong, she puts her hands on the turnstile, pushes up and –

"Stop! Police!"

Alexis freezes, feet dangling, as the doors close. She stares at her friends' shocked faces as the train pulls away from the station.

* * *

Kate Beckett is done with people for the week.

She's done with unreliable witnesses. She's most especially done with the suspect who pointlessly rammed her car during his escape attempt. She's surprisingly done with the victim's family, something she's never before thought as a homicide detective.

For that matter, she's done with technology. Malfunctioning technology that forces her to leave a much-needed night out with Lanie because one of her cases goes to trial on Monday and, for whatever reason, some of the paperwork did not get sent to the DA assigned to the case, the overworked DA who understandably left a frantic voicemail for Kate before calling the precinct. Twice.

The evening is drizzly and damp, which means there's no point in trying for a cab. She tries not to think about how this wouldn't be an issue if her cruiser weren't in the shop. Seeing the sign for a subway station, she makes her way to the entrance.

Lanie is the one who usually suggests girls' nights. This week, Kate arranged it, because she's desperate for something that is not work. She wants a cocktail and mindless chatter and silly. She had anticipated tonight, counted down the hours at work today, and now, here she is, taking the subway to the precinct when she should still be with Lanie, gossiping and relaxing.

Heading into work on Friday night she's supposed to be off is an altogether a fitting end to the week.

Ahead of Kate, a group of teenage girls dash through the station. Kate marks them as trust fund kids, the type who grew up with car service and view the subway as an exotic activity when they feel like slumming it.

One of the girls starts to jump the turnstile, and that's it. Kate's had her fill of rule breakers this week.

"Stop! Police!"

It's only after Kate says it – after she watches the train, with the girl's friends, depart – that Kate wonders what the hell she's done. It's jumping a turnstile, something Kate did more than once when she was that age, because she wasn't supposed to and, at that age, not allowed equaled fun for Kate.

But she did say something, and the girl's now alone at night in New York City. Kate can't simply give her a warning and leave her here.

The girl's finally lowered her feet back to the floor and turned to Kate, who, at some point, unconsciously pulled her badge out of her purse. Kate's heart catches at the look of abject terror in the girl's eyes.

"I'm so, so sorry." The girl's blue eyes are wide and glassy. Her face flushes red, contrasting with the bright copper of her damp hair. "I just – we couldn't get a taxi, and my card was out of money, and I didn't have time and I just – I wasn't thinking, I wasn't, and I'm so sorry, and I know it was wrong, and I swear, I was already planning on putting money on my card tomorrow and swiping it twice without riding. I know that doesn't make it right, but I just, I panicked."

"Hey, it's OK." Kate's anger is dust, and what's left is yawning guilt. She recognizes the girl's sincerity, her honest distress, and it underlines Kate's misstep of saying anything in the first place, of letting her frustration from the past week erupt at such a ridiculous issue.

Knowing that doesn't mean she has any idea what to do next.

Her phone rings, and part of her prays for a murder, even though she's not on call. Kate recognizes the Assistant DA's number and hits silent.

"Hey, I get it," Kate says gently. "But that doesn't make it right. One of your friends could have swiped her card for you."

The red head nods, nearly dislodging a tear. "I know, I thought of that as soon as you told me to stop."

The announcement for Kate's train echoes through the station. She can't leave this girl alone, but she also needs to get to the precinct. "Come on."

The girl's eyes widen. "Are you arresting me?"

"No, no. I just – I have to get to work, and I'm not leaving you here by yourself. Do you have a parent you could call to pick you up?"

As Kate says it – as she watches the girl's expression fall blank – she realizes she has, quite possibly, managed to make an already stupid situation worse. Now she's going to have parents storming into the precinct, demanding to know why their daughter was hauled in for attempting to jump a turnstile.

This might possibly be the lowest moment of Katherine Beckett's illustrious career.

"You're not in trouble," Kate says. "I just – I want to make sure you're safe."

The train arrives, and Kate pulls out her card. "I'll swipe for both of us."

They board the mostly empty train. Kate normally stands, but the upset teenager next to her looks ready to faint, so she sits down and motions for the girl to join her.

When the train starts again, the girl asks, "Can I text my friends and let them know I'm OK?"

"Of course. You don't have to ask me for permission to text." Kate avoids running a hand through her hair at the thought that she has quite possibly just quasi-arrested one of the most law-abiding teenagers in New York City. Nice job, Beckett.

"No service," the girl says after a moment and puts her phone into her coat pocket

They settle into silence.

Silence is powerful. Kate's long preferred it as one of her favorite tools for getting suspects to crack.

Tonight, however, Kate's out of the catbird seat. "You look nice. Coming from a school dance?"

"Yeah. We were supposed to take a taxi home. We'd been trying to hail one for almost half an hour, and then Kelsey remembered the next train was about to stop, and we made a run for it." The girl shakes her head. "I'm not even supposed to take the subway after 10."

"I'm sure your parents wouldn't want you to spend all night standing on the sidewalk in the rain either."

"No, but my Dad would want me to call so he could come pick us up. And normally I would, but he's been kind of stuck on his new book, and sometimes being home alone for a whole night helps him focus."

"Your Dad's a writer?" Kate asks. "Anything I would have read?"

Alexis shifts, glances down at her hands. "Probably not. You look nice too, by the way."

Kate ignores how the girl changes the subject. It has her curious, but she's not interrogating the girl. She's not supposed to parse every comment for weaknesses and hidden information. "Thanks. I was out with a friend when I got a phone call that I needed to head back into work."

There's a brief lull, and Kate adds, "I'm a homicide detective. One of my cases goes to court on Monday. There was a problem with the paperwork that the DA needs ahead of the trial."

The girls catches Kate's eye. For a moment, Kate swears the girl is going to ask a question, but instead she says, "That's pretty cool."

Funny. Kate's not sure she's ever felt less cool than the past few minutes. She's just thankful Espo and Ryan are out for the night, as they're likely the only two in the bullpen who would raze her about keeping the streets safe from turnstile jumpers.

As they arrive at the station near the precinct, Kate belatedly says, "I'm Kate, by the way."

The girl looks surprised for a moment, and then says, "Alexis."

It's pouring when they exit the station. Kate stops to buy an umbrella from the newsstand next to the station entrance, raising it to shield her and Alexis from the downpour that started while they were underground.

"Thanks." Alexis crosses her arms, and Kate looks again at her apparel: a pretty dress and thin shawl. Alexis was at a school dance, and even in winter, who wants to wear a heavy coat to a dance?

When they make it into the precinct, Kate takes one of the spare NYPD windbreakers and hands it to the girl. Arriving at her desk, Kate pauses for a moment before grabbing one of the empty office chairs and sliding it to the side of her desk.

"Sit down and relax. If you want to go ahead and call your parents – "

"Actually, Detective, would you?"

Kate stops. She had a whole speech planned out, about how Alexis should assure her parents she wasn't in any trouble, but she stops cold. "You want me to call your parents?"

"My Dad actually. If you could just tell him I'm OK, but that he needs to pick me up from the NYPD's 12th Precinct?"

"You want me to call him," Kate repeats, because, sure, this evening hasn't been weird enough.

"Yeah. Like if you had actually arrested me." The girl's earlier distress still hovers, but now she seems almost bemused.

"Uh, sure." Kate sits down and picks up the phone, mindlessly dialing the number supplied by the girl.

"Cassel," a man's voice echoes through the phone, and it sounds vaguely familiar.

"Hello? Mr. Cassel?" Kate forgot to get the girl's last name before she dialed. She's falling decidedly short on job competency tonight.

"Yes?" There's a wary note in the man's voice now.

"This is Detective Kate Beckett with the NYPD. I have your daughter, Alexis – "

"Alexis? Is she OK?" Now a note of panic.

"She's fine. Everything's fine. But I am going to need you to come down to the 12th Precinct to pick her up."

"She's fine?"

"Yes. When you arrive at the precinct, tell the desk officer you're here to see Detective Beckett on the fourth floor." No need to terrify the man with a mention of homicide.

There's a pause, and then: "Great. Great. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Kate hangs up and looks over at the girl, who is swamped by the NYPD windbreaker. Belatedly, something occurs to her. "Alexis, is there a reason you didn't want to call your father and speak to him yourself?"

"What? No. No." The girl looks down, and Kate's pretty sure she's blushing. "My Dad's always saying I should be more adventurous, do stuff that he would do. Get in trouble. Have a misspent youth. But that's not really me." The girl looks up, shrugs, as she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "This will probably be his only chance to even sort of bail me out of jail. I didn't want to deprive him of that."

* * *

Paperwork for the DA straightened out, Kate glances over at Alexis. After texting her friends to let them know that she was OK, Alexis had settled in with a copy of today's New York Herald.

"Sure you don't want anything to drink?" Kate asks.

Alexis glances up. "I don't want to disturb you."

"Not at all. I'm done. I was actually thinking I could use a cup of tea." In the past year, Kate's discovered an inability to sleep if she has caffeine after 7 pm. And she wants, very much, to sleep tonight.

"Oh, well, yeah." Alexis puts down the paper.

Kate reaches into her middle drawer and pulls out a box of assorted tea. "Go ahead and pick one. I'll get us some hot water."

In the break room, Kate takes a minute to breathe. Alexis has been nothing but polite since arriving at the precinct. The girl seems to views it as perfectly acceptable that a police officer would stop her from jumping a turnstile and take her in. Alexis seems like a good kid, and maybe that means she has good parents, parents who will appreciate a cop giving their daughter a warning as a way to prevent future law breaking.

Never mind that Alexis doesn't seem to need that lesson. Kate's dealt with murderers with less remorse.

Filling two mugs with hot water, Kate glances up as the elevator doors open. She can only catch a few glimpses of the man who steps out and pauses. When he turns into the bullpen, she has a straight shot at his face and -

It's Richard Castle. Richard Castle is standing on her homicide floor.

He walks straight for Kate's desk. He puts a hand on Alexis's shoulder.

Kate just hauled Richard Castle's daughter into the station.

And this, this, is the altogether fitting end to her week.

* * *

Richard Castle's heart doesn't crawl out of his throat until he sees Alexis's hair. Ever since she was a toddler, he's found something calming in her shining head of hair. He loves how it makes her easy to pick out in crowds, easy to reassure him that she's safe.

Standing at the edge of the room, he wants to call out to her, wants to sprint straight at her and pull her into his arms and never let go.

But.

He got a call to pick her up from a police station. She's sitting in a police station, dwarfed by a NYPD windbreaker (even with all of the unknowns about what's happened, he hopes they'll be allowed to keep it). Much as he's teased Alexis about going wild, he had thought they were on the same page: those were jokes and not advice. He's relieved that she's OK, yes, but there's part of him that's hovering in an emotional dead zone as he waits to learn the details before settling on a definite emotional state.

Alexis is only a freshman. She still has plenty of time to opt for the path of tumultuous high school years. His own teenage antics didn't escalate until his sophomore year, yet he's banked on a continued status quo of his daughter not following in her father's footsteps. Driving to the station, a million different possibilities floated through his head, perhaps the most creative brainstorming he's done in weeks.

There's only one thing he knows at this point: he has no idea what to do if Alexis takes up his penchant for troublemaking. She's given him absolutely no preparation for that sort of parenting.

He settles for a hand on her shoulder. She startles, sees him, jumps up, and wraps him in a hug. She starts talking, words tripping over each other and half into his shoulder. It's like she's a toddler again, when he would only catch every third or fourth word and struggle to understand what she wanted to tell him.

This is his Alexis, his sweet, brilliant rule follower. He gently pulls her back, strokes her head. "Hey, Lex, it's OK. You're OK. What happened?"

He hates how watery her eyes are, how desperate and guilty she is. "I know I'm not supposed to take the subway after dark – "

"Excuse me, Mr. Castle?"

Rick turns to see an attractive woman coming toward them. She's tall, willowy, and dressed for a night out on the town in a red dress straight out of _James Bond_. His first thought is: what did Alexis do that a lawyer is already involved? He hasn't even managed that particular feat. Yet.

"Detective Kate Beckett." She extends a hand.

Rick's mind briefly – insanely, crazily briefly – considers whether she's the hottest cop he's ever seen. No, scratch that, hottest law enforcement official period. Then he refocuses and frees his right hand to shake hers. "Richard Castle."

He sees the glimmer of recognition. He wonders how she knows his name. If she's merely seen it in a bookstore or if maybe she actually reads his books. Preferably in a bath wearing nothing but bubbles.

The detective hands a mug to Alexis. Alexis reaches onto the desk for a tea bag and slips it into the mug. These small actions calm him. If this were something terrible, the detective wouldn't be offering his daughter a drink.

She motions to a room off to the side. "I thought we could go in there and talk. It's more comfortable."

Rick leaves an arm around Alexis, keeps her close, but he can't help glancing around. He's managed to get a few tours of NYPD precincts over the years – for both research and recreational purposes – but never at night when it's this quiet. He wishes the situation were different so he could simply sit in a corner and take notes. It's these small moments, these small details, that make stories click.

Instead he sits down on a couch next to his daughter and steels his resolve for the bad news. The detective sits across from them, and smiles, a consoling, kind smile. Castle belatedly remembers seeing a sign that this floor is the homicide division. So Detective Beckett is a homicide detective, and this is a smile normally used for the families and friends of victims.

This is not a detail that soothes him.

"Now, I want to be clear. Alexis is not in trouble. This is just a warning. Earlier this evening, she attempted to jump a turnstile."

Castle's mouth opens and closely dumbly. That's why they're here? That's why he spent the past half hour with his heart lodged in his throat, wondering what he had done wrong as a parent? Or worse, that Alexis had seen or heard something terrible, something scarring and dangerous?

All this for jumping a turnstile? It's surprising that Alexis of all people would do that, but knowing her, there's good reason for a foray into minor law breaking.

Castle swallows once, twice. "I didn't realize the NYPD was so strict about subway fare."

The detective's eyes briefly skate away from father and daughter. It's quick, one of those small tells of a person, a hint of her thoughts. She's uncomfortable. "We're not. I told her to stop, and the train departed. I didn't think it was wise to leave her alone in the station, so I brought her with me to the precinct."

Castle, however, is stuck a detail. "Since when do detectives take the subway to work?"

Annoyance and frustration dance across her face, but it's again quick. She's exceptionally good at keeping that neutral mask close at hand. "When a suspect rams their cruiser during a failed getaway attempt, and the cruiser needs body work."

"Really?" He perks up. "That actually happened to you?"

The detective's lips thin. "Yes. As I was saying about Alexis – "

"Alexis, you ever going to jump a turnstile again?"

Alexis shakes her head firmly. "No."

"Then I'd say the warning worked," he says to the detective before turning to his daughter. "Although we will be discussing taking the subway after 10 when you know I would have picked you up."

Alexis quickly nods, and it occurs to Rick this is going to be one of those times when she'll punish herself no matter what he says on the subject. Already, in the back corner of his mind, he begins sketching out laser tag and ice cream sundae plans for the weekend. Alexis will demand some sort of punishment, and if the detective lets her keep the too-large windbreaker, he'll confiscate it as Alexis's punishment. The windbreaker looks like it would fit him. Alexis will see it as the ridiculous gesture it is, but that sort of hollow punishment usually satisfies her need for atonement, even as she rolls her eyes and refuses his initial offers of ice cream.

"Is there anything else?" he asks, because as much as he would like to stay and pick the pretty detective's brain, he wants to get Alexis home. She's exhausted. They can pick up her stuff from Taylor's house tomorrow. Selfishly, Rick wants her home tonight, the scare still lurking too close.

"No. Thank you for coming down to the station." The detective stands, and Castle and Alexis follow.

"Actually, there is one thing. Could I maybe get your card?" He briefly hesitates, decides to play coy. "I write murder mysteries, and I'd love to pick your brain, if you wouldn't mind."

"You want to pick my brain?" she asks, sounding genuinely surprised. It's the way she emphasizes 'you' that makes him think she not only knows who he is, but she's read his books too.

A hot NYPD detective who reads his novels. He's definitely not leaving here without a way to meet her again. He would have suggested Alexis start jumping turnstiles years ago if he had known that this would be the outcome.

* * *

Kate Beckett does her best to not swoon into her desk chair after father and daughter leave. She just met Richard Castle. She just shook hands with Richard Castle, and he asked for her card. She borderline abused her authority as an NYPD officer, and she met her favorite author as a result. This must be how criminals get their start. They bend the rules once and get rewarded, and it builds from there.

Kate can't keep back the small, satisfied smile that crosses her face. This is not how she expected tonight to end. She had been preparing for angry parents and possible threats to report her to Montgomery. She knows plenty of cops who have ended up on the carpet for telling the wrong powerful person to follow the rules.

Running her hands over her desk, Kate debates staying for another hour or so and making a dent in her paperwork. She needs to let IT know about the database glitch that forced her to fax that report over to the DA rather than submit it electronically. She also needs to review that case before Monday, even though she won't be on the stand until Wednesday at the earliest. That's assuming the trial even gets that far. The suspect has yet to agree to a plea deal, but the DA's increasingly confident he'll be able to pull off something at the 11th hour. Something he could only do with those files in hand.

Friday nights are a good time to do paperwork. It's quiet, easy to work undisturbed. Kate glances at the clock. If she stays for half an hour, she can get as much done now as would take her in an hour during the day. She reaches for her mouse to wake her computer.

"Detective?"

Richard Castle stands at the corner of her desk.

"Mr. Castle, is there something else you needed?" Here it comes. Alexis is no longer with him, so he can get angry.

"Do you want a ride home?"

Kate's eyebrows rise. "I'm sorry?"

"With your car in the shop and it raining, I thought you might like a ride home." He smiles, not his book jacket smile, but a real smile. Kate thinks back to earlier and his boyish smile when he asked for her card, how it sent a delicious chill down her spine.

She holds up a hand. "That's really not necessary. I was – "

"You can't tell me you want to take the subway this time of night."

Kate doesn't. She doesn't want to have to time getting to the station to not miss the train on its nighttime schedule. She doesn't want to be outside on this cold, damp night. She spends enough nights in the cold and damp when a body drops.

"Look, I'm sure you're eager to get Alexis home – "

"It was her idea. Please, Detective, we don't mind."

Kate hesitates. There's nothing in the regs about this, but it is a gray area. She'd be letting this guy knows where she lives, something most of the guys she dates don't find out for a few weeks, if at all. For all she feels like she knows Richard Castle from his books, the truth is, she doesn't know him.

But she's tired. She's had an awful week. Taking the subway from the precinct to her apartment is not convenient.

"Sure." She'll compromise and have them let her out a block from her apartment. Still a few steps in the rain but closer than the subway station.

* * *

When they get back to the loft, Alexis disappears upstairs to take a shower. She's already handed over the NYPD windbreaker, even before Rick can even demand it as punishment. He's pleased with how well it fits. He's disappointed to discover no hidden pockets or stealth technology.

After hanging the jacket in the coat closet, he wanders the first floor. For the first time in weeks, he doesn't look toward his office with dread. The ride home was quiet. The conversation with Detective Beckett was polite small talk, nothing more, and Rick's not sure why he had expected something deeper and more meaningful.

He settles on the couch, his mind both empty and full. The words still aren't there. The impetus to write remains external, a looming deadline that demands he write even when he doesn't have the words. Alexis and even his mother, for all their teasing about his procrastination, know that he doesn't need that goading. Gina has never understood that, something that formed one of the fault lines in their marriage: how she hounded him like he was a child, never understanding that he didn't need to be badgered, that for all his jokes and procrastination, no one puts more pressure on Richard Castle than Richard Castle.

Even now, he bristles at the memory. How, for all her intelligence, it never occurred to Gina than anyone who wrote and published a bestselling novel while in college isn't a slacker, even if he pretends to be.

External deadlines don't usually phase him, but this one is beginning to eat at him, because no eleventh-hour genius seems forthcoming. The pressure from his current bout of writer's block leaves him increasingly frayed. Writing satisfies him in a way nothing else can. With each unsuccessful day, the vague, untethered restlessness grows. He had thought that killing Derek Storm would alleviate the creeping freeze, that a blank canvas would spur his mind into action. But there's been nothing, even worse than nothing, because for all Derek bored him at the end, there was a template and guide that allowed him to keep crafting books. Creativity by rote. He hasn't even had that since he sent off _Storm Fall_ to Black Pawn.

Until tonight.

That precinct, that detective, sparked something in the back of his head. Nothing more than the possibility of an idea but it's more than he's had in months. He can't even give detail to these wisps of something. He just knows that, somehow, it's all tied up with that detective. She's the key to ending his drought.

Now he just needs to figure out how.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I've been lurking and reading Castle fan fiction for a while, and the amount of creativity in this fandom inspired me to craft my own tale. If you've gotten this far, I hope you enjoyed this particular version of events and thanks for reading.


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